


Yellow Hearts

by holdtheblind



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Absolute Dorks, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Parent Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Tony Stark Has A Heart, and steve rogers is cute, but not pepperony?, i just love the idea of tony being a dad ok, parent team pepper and tony, pepper is kinda a mother figure, so steve having the hots for tony's kid??, yes please!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdtheblind/pseuds/holdtheblind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was not one of you without the other.</p><p>You often compared yourselves to Bonnie and Clyde, Jekyll and Hyde. You and your father were partners in crime, to say the least, and often inseparable.</p><p>Tony Stark loved you with all his heart.</p><p>But your life was shattered when that idiot Steve Rogers waltzed into your life, with his dumb shield and dumb armor and dumb smile and even dumber face, just to ruin it all for you in the strangest way you didn't even know was possible.</p><p>(aka you're tony's daughter, and the avengers come to live with you in the newly renovated avengers tower yeet. takes place post-the winter soldier, pre-age of ultron)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. oil and grease

**Author's Note:**

> hello, y'all!
> 
> bit of a backstory before we begin; you are tony stark's one and only child. you live with him in what is now the avengers tower. pepper, since she's basically always around, is kinda like your mom. your birth mother left soon after you were born, leaving tony to raise you. the story begins when cap and the others move into the tower.
> 
> so here we go!

**chapter one ; oil and grease**

-

If there is one thing that you learn from being related to Tony Stark, it is that oil and grease are a natural part of life.

Your hands were adorning the slippery fluid like gloves. It had splattered onto your shirt, and smudges of it littered your puffy and heated cheeks. You took a brief moment to wipe some of your sweat off using the small rag slung over your shoulder, crinkling your nose at the scratch of the rough fibers. You continued swiping through the reports J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up for you. Your engine design had a few minor issues. Nothing you couldn't fix.

Without thinking, you sighed and rested your chin on your hand.

Tony laughed from behind you and spun your chair around with a smirk. He didn’t bother to explain as he smiled at you, fondness abundant in his eyes, and took your towel to wipe off the grease that had spread to your chin. You, a profuse grin on your face, grabbed the rag back and scrubbed the oil off of your hands, then threw it on the desk.

“Go shower. You smell,” your father remarked and threw his own rag on top of yours.

You rolled your eyes dramatically and replied with a snarky, “Like you smell any better.”

Tony just laughed at your jab and headed towards the door of the basement-level garage.

Tinkering and inventing were, in arms with oil and grease, an essential part of life with your father. You'd built your first engine at five, a whole year earlier than your father had, of which was an accomplishment he was still _terribly_ proud of you for. (He kept the photograph of you smiling next to it in his wallet, and there was a framed copy of it on his office desk.) Considering the inherently destructive nature of life as a Stark, though, oil was spread all over your clothes, faces, and arms.

As you approached the door, you _knew_ he'd forget that his hands were still covered in grease. You weighed the options briefly and decided not to intervene as he dirtied the door handle. Chances were he'd be subject to another lecture by Pepper, and those lectures were, quite honestly, your favourite form of entertainment.

You absentmindedly started humming as you followed your father up the stairs and towards the first floor lobby. Pepper was standing there and tapping her foot with impatience.

“Finally! You two — I've been trying to get you on the intercom for five minutes now! And Tony, wash your hands! I will be _damned_ if you’re getting grease everywhere again.”

She had started shaming the two of you as soon as you emerged from the staircase. Even after all these years, Peppers scolding you still made you feel like a dog with its tail between its hind legs.

“(Y/N), Tony, both of you go clean up. Our guests are arriving in half an hour.”

You tried not to let the surprise show on your face but you had, somehow, completely forgotten. Your father’s teammates were coming to live with you two in what had become known as Avengers Tower; Dr. Banner was off saving lives in some remote part of India, Thor was tending to his princely duties in Asgard, and Captain Rogers and Agents Romanoff and Barton were residing in a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility (the job of being an Avenger may have sounded illustrious, but the salary didn't match).

The surprise was easy enough to hide, but masking your annoyance was a challenge. Annoyance, of course, at having to share your home. The home you and your father had _built,_ literally and metaphorically. The home you had chosen to share with few others — Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and your Great Aunt Peggy, yes, but also Obadiah Stane, of whom had taken the trust you'd bestowed upon him and ruined it to high hell, of whom had tried to kill your father and Pepper, of whom had entirely obliterated your ability to put faith in anyone but your father and those who had proven themselves to you. It had been just you and your father for nearly your entire life. Your mother left soon after you were born, and for the most part, that left just you and Tony.

For all 22 years of your existence, your father had been your best friend, your mentor, and your biggest supporter. For 22 years, you had been fortunate enough to share a home with the one person who had and  _would_ always love you unconditionally. The thought of five practical strangers coming to live with you was far less than appealing.

It wasn't as if it was your father's choice, though; Nick Fury had decided that, for logistical purposes, all of the Avengers were to be housed together. When emergency struck, it would take far less time to assemble if they were all under the same roof. Your father refused to move to a S.H.I.E.L.D. facility without you — you didn't have the clearance to be housed in one as well — so he volunteered the Tower as a means of staying close to you. He'd been acting with your best interests in mind, and yet, you couldn't help but feel irritated at the intrusion, and you were trying your hardest to keep that irritation from showing on your face.

Tony could read your expression like the back of his own hand. Over a span of 22 years, he had learned how to decode the facade of indifference you sometimes shrouded yourself behind.

Once he had finished wiping his hands onto a towel, he walked over to you and slung his arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, chin up, kiddo,” he said, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll be okay, alright? You’ll get used to them soon enough. Maybe before I do.”

You forced out a chuckle at Tony’s antics and laid your head on his shoulder for a moment. His fingers squeezed your arm in reassurance.

You then remembered that you had to get ready, and therefore wiggled out of his grasp, rolled your eyes when he blew a raspberry at you, and headed towards the elevator. You might not have been incredibly thrilled about sharing your home, but if you had to make a first impression, you were going to look decent in the process.

After a shower that purged most of the grease from your body (you ignored a couple of the more stubborn smudges on your cheeks), you rummaged through your closet. You threw on a _somewhat_ presentable outfit, consisting of a crop top and jeans, which was a significant step up from your previous outfit of stained sweatpants and an old Clash of the Titans tour shirt.

With a sigh, you ran your hand through your hair and made your way downstairs to wait with your dad. J.A.R.V.I.S., though, alerted you that you’d spent too much time getting ready.

“Miss, your father’s guests have arrived,” J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke whilst you were making your way to the elevator. "They are gathered on the 53rd floor."

“Dammit,” you grumbled under your breath, clenching your jaw. You had hoped that maybe, just _maybe,_ you would get a couple more minutes with your father before your home was invaded.

You soon boarded the elevator and arrived at the 53rd floor, sock-clad feet pounding softly on the tile. Tony looked over to you as you emerged and smiled, pausing the conversation he was in the midst of with the woman you knew to be Agent Romanoff.

“There she is!” he spoke, waving you over. “(Y/N), this is Nat.”

“Natasha,” she corrected with a thin smile, not looking at Tony. “My name is Natasha.”

Tony rolled his eyes, and then looked back to Natasha. “Anyways, Nat,” (he winked at you as he blatantly ignored her instruction), “this is (Y/N) Stark. She’s like a tiny, spunky, female version of me.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied with as much politeness you could muster. Meeting these strangers and being forced to socialize with them wasn’t exactly your cup of tea — or, well, coffee. Starks don’t drink tea. Starks drink coffee.

Natasha looked between you and your father several times before her smile widened, eyes now playful.

“She’s polite. Are you sure she’s yours?”

“Oh, harsh,” Tony replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “That really hurt me. Right in my mechanical heart.”

Natasha just chuckled, rolled her eyes, and went off to talk to the others that were milling and meandering about the room (the 53rd floor was a combined living room and kitchen area).

While you had the chance, you looked at your father and gave him a half-grin.

“Hey, uh, dad… Do you think I could leave? I’m not feeling so hot,” you asked him in a near-whisper. You preferred not drawing attention to yourself at the moment.

Tony just nodded, ruffled your hair (much to your protests), and told you to be back by 5:30 PM, which was in an hour and a half. He was ordering pizza as a sort of welcome dinner.

You were a little relieved that he wasn't forcing you to stay; socialization didn’t seem appropriate at the moment. Considering that the five were quite literally going to be _living_ with you, becoming friends wasn't your first priority, and especially in the crabby state you were in. Your father's earlier attempts to soothe your irritation, though endearing, hadn't helped. One wrong word and you had the potential to snap at someone, and that wasn't exactly the first impression you intended to make.

You pecked him on the cheek, and were about to walk away when he reached up, gently cupping your cheek in his hand. You could feel a few sets of eyes turn their attention to you as your father's gaze scanned your face.

With a short  _tsk,_ he walked to the kitchen sink and took a towel, dampening a portion of it under the faucet. You were confused for a brief moment, but upon remembering the grease stains still on your cheeks, you puffed out your cheeks.

"You have—"

"I have motor grease on my face," you interrupted. "I know, Dad. I tried to get it off in the shower."

Your father rolled his eyes and approached you, hand going back to cradle your cheek as his other hand, holding the dish towel, began to rub at the stains. You felt a bit like a child as he stood there, trying to clean a mess off of your face, and you distinctly recalled the first engine you ever built, and how he'd spent half an hour cleaning the motor grease and oil from your skin.

He grinned triumphantly after several more seconds of careful cleaning, and soon enough, he lowered the towel, kissed your forehead, and beamed at you.

"Okay, okay, go. Have fun, kiddo," he said, eyes holding a certain twinkle you could only label as fondness. "The functional prototype of that battery of yours is expected by Wednesday, so please don't forget to work on that or Pepper will kick my ass and present my head on a silver platter to the board of directors, and I  _really_ don't want that, and especially because you're Chief Architect and I'm really just majority shareholder, the Board will kick _your_ ass, too, and maybe threaten to have you removed, which would be a right shame because you're smarter than anyone else they could hire except maybe  _me,_ but I was a disaster of a CEO so I don't think they want me to be a corporate officer again. So, yeah. Please make sure the battery is fully operational and maybe don't get fired?"

You nodded through your father's ramble, amused smile playing at your lips, and gave him a thumbs up when he finished.

"Make sure the battery is entirely useless and get fired from SI. Got it."

"Good!" he agreed.

Ignoring the amused looks from the Avengers, you hugged your father and turned to go to the elevator.

 

* * *

 

“There you are!”

You had finally forced yourself to leave your floor — the 90th, to be precise, which was where you developed your more explosive projects — and made your way back to the commons. You had only decided to leave because J.A.R.V.I.S. kept reminding you, and had even resorted to guilt-tripping you at one point. You didn't even  _know_ J.A.R.V.I.S. could guilt-trip, and you made a mental note to re-evaluate his persuasive abilities and language acquisition features with your father at a later date. Guilt-tripped by a disembodied robot voice. Honestly.

When you arrived downstairs, everyone else was indulging in pizza and alcohol. You knew there were soft drinks in the refrigerator, and you planned on grabbing one before you left.

Tony noticed as soon as you walked into the room from the elevator. You were surprised to also see Rhodey and Pepper lounging on the couch, conversing with Nat and Clint. You waved at the pair, and they smiled back at you whilst you were walking to your dad.

You only then realized he was talking to none other than the famous Captain America. The man your father had idolized through his childhood. The man your Great Aunt Peggy told you stories of when you were a child, the same as she'd done to your father in his youth. The man you had vintage trading card sets and memorabilia and army propaganda of, his face and all-American smile plastered on them all.

Your father whacked the man on the back, almost causing him to choke on his food. You had to suppress giggles as you grabbed a pizza slice from the open box on the counter behind your father. You stealthily gave him a high-five when you knew that Captain Rogers wasn’t looking.

“Anyways, Capsicle,” your dad started, seemingly ignoring the choking incident, “this is my kid. (Y/N), this is Captain America.”

“Steve,” Captain corrected, pointedly looking at Tony. “The name is Steve. Steve Rogers.”

You smiled, much less forced than the one you had presented to Agent Romanoff earlier, and held a hand out for him to shake. “Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m (Y/N) Stark.”

“Nice to meet you too, Ms. Stark,” Steve said with a polite smile as he reached his hand out and shook yours. You noticed immediately that his hands were rough and calloused and warm, the sheer size of them dwarfing your own. You couldn't help but feel a bit small next to him, with his epicly proportioned shoulders and impressive height. His smile, though, was gentle and genuine, and you suddenly understood the image of the all-American boyscout that surrounded his name.

"(Y/N) is fine, Steve," you laughed, shifting on your feet. "After all, we're going to be living in the same building. No need for formalities."

By this point, your father had already gotten bored and left to pursue a different path of conversation. He was now leaning against the kitchen counter across the room, speaking with Thor. Thor's laughter was loud and booming, and you couldn’t help but smile at its contagious nature.

You and Steve were still standing somewhat awkwardly next to one another, munching on your food without uttering a word. You felt a compelling urge to just up and walk away when you were approached by none other than Dr. Banner, all nerves and awkward smiles.

"Ms. Stark! It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he spoke as he neared you, facial expression gentle. "I was hoping for an opportunity to speak to you tonight; Tony sings your praises during practically every mission."

_Robert Bruce Banner, M.D., Ph.D. knew who you were. Holy shit._

You shook his hand with great fervor, smile wide and dorky. "Dr. Banner, the pleasure is all mine. The scope of your research is simply unparalleled! I've been using your studies to aid my research and theses since college. I've been — I've been hoping to meet you for years now, in all honesty."

Dr. Banner chuckled and shook his head. "Ms. Stark, I'm sure you're the one every scientific journal is looking to nowadays." Your heart thumped extra hard at that compliment. "Your development of Arc Reactor technology could turn SI into the new leader in clean energy."

"I hope so," you confessed, grinning sheepishly. "We're hoping to bring small-scale versions of the Reactor to consumer markets in the form of synthetic palladium batteries, though we're not sure how to prevent foreign companies from violating copyright laws and copying proprietary technology."

"Ah, I'm sure you'll figure it out," Dr. Banner reassured. "You're smart — smarter than I was at your age, for sure."

It was as if all the breath left your chest at his words.

"Thank you, Dr. Banner," you spoke, voice embarrassingly and unnaturally high-pitched. He just smiled and bid you adieu, leaving to join your father and Thor in their spirited exchange.

You could finally breathe again when Dr. Banner left, though your inner schoolgirl was still freaking out at the fact that you'd just met the man you'd been idolizing since childhood. You stared at his retreating form, sighing in relief when he was out of earshot, and went back to eating your pizza. You noticed Steve had left, and was now with the two Agents, Pepper, and Rhodey on the couch. (You were glad he had left, in all honesty, because you really didn't need Captain America thinking you were a dork, and the fact that he didn't bear witness to your amazingly embarrassing exchange with Dr. Banner significantly reduced the possibility of that occurring. You wouldn't be surprised if he'd stayed and heard you, though, because the universe was a complete and utter asshole and had the tendency to ruin good things for you, such as the opportunity of Captain America thinking you were _cool_ , because you would be damned if a man who was born before sliced bread was invented didn't think you were at least slightly impressive.)

With that, you then decided you had suffered through enough socialization for one day. You finished your pizza, washed your hands in the sink, grabbed a soda from the refrigerator, and made your way to the elevator again.

"Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S.," you said into the air as the elevator delivered you to the 90th floor again. "Do you think we're ready to test capacity and voltage today?"

"Affirmative, Miss," he responded. "Shall I alert the board that the prototype is functional?"

"Yes please, J.A.R.V.I.S.," you confirmed whilst stepping off the elevator.

You walked past the glass door to your lab and threw yourself into your work.

 


	2. captain grumpy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning is an interesting experience.

**chapter two ; captain grumpy**

-

Mornings were really, truly not your thing.

You hadn't inherited your father's unending supply of genius-fueled energy; he'd go to bed at 3:00 AM because  _I know I have to sleep, (Y/N), but I think I have an idea_ _and I am going to invent it and it will be wonderful_ ,and then he'd be wide awake at 8:00, sipping on his black coffee at the breakfast table with his StarkPad, designing his next project or Iron Man suit upgrade.

You, on the other hand, were a sight to behold in the morning. Cranky and angry and terribly uncooperative, yes, but also largely irritable, to the point where there was, on average, a 73% chance of yelling and/or broken tableware if you were not properly calmed with caffeine and your usual cranberry muffin. Both your father and Pepper had learned to not even attempt to speak to you until you'd been seated with both; at that point, your mood and attitude would improve tenfold, returning you to your generally nonconfrontational self.

When you stumbled out of the elevator and into the 53rd floor kitchen the next day, rubbing your eyes, you took note of the fact that you and Steve were the only ones awake. He was seated at the kitchen table, hunched over a book and eating something or another. Too exhausted to greet him, you plodded your way to the pantry, eyes scanning tiredly for the plastic container where your beloved muffins usually resided.

It took far longer than it should have — a solid half minute, though you'd never admit this — for you to notice there weren't even any of your cranberry muffins left, and you grumbled in annoyance.

"I swear we had one left..." you trailed off, then froze, internally replaying the time that had passed since your exit from the elevator. It was not long before you realized that Steve's half-eaten breakfast was, of course, your last muffin.

Too consumed with irritation to bother with verbal communication, you stomped over and snatched the muffin out of his hand, still mumbling incoherently. You were far too tired (and hungry) to care that it was already partially consumed because for all you cared, a muffin was a muffin, and in your exhaustion-addled state, you concluded that Steve Rogers' body had the metabolism of several full-grown adults, and a cranberry muffin was not enough to fulfill him, so you rationed that stealing his breakfast would be nothing if not beneficial for _both_ of you — he'd be forced to find something more substantial to eat, and you... you got your muffin. Upon remembering this later, you promptly smacked yourself on the head with a pry bar, and you were endlessly thankful when J.A.R.V.I.S. didn't comment.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., can you add two dozen cranberry muffins to the grocery list and send it to the grocers at noon?” you asked the disembodied interface whilst taking a bite out of the stolen food. Your mood had already improved. “Oh, and eggs. I think we’re out.”

“You are indeed out of eggs,” J.A.R.V.I.S.’ smooth British voice responded dutifully. “I have added two dozen large cranberry muffins and four dozen eggs to the grocery list, and its delivery has been scheduled. I shall reconfirm a half hour in advance.”

You hummed and thanked the AI.

Steve was staring at you, dumbstruck, and you pretended to be oblivious.

“Did you just take my muffin?” he asked, an eyebrow raised. He had the audacity to sound scandalized.

You withheld a smirk and simply nodded while you continued enjoying your stolen breakfast, staring the super-soldier dead in the eyes.

“Yeah."

You were beyond surprised when he leant over and grabbed the muffin right back out of your hands with a blank face.

“I think I'll be taking that back, Miss,” he spoke. A small, satisfied grin slipped onto his face. You were still staring at him, moderately confused by what had just taken place — how dare he steal the muffin you stole after he, in essence, stole it from _you_ by taking the last one? Rude.

He chuckled a little at your blank expression and broke the remaining half of the muffin into two. Steve handed one of pieces to you; to your annoyance, it was the smaller of the two. He then looked down to continue reading his book.

“Oh, and good morning, (Y/N).”

You stood still for a moment, then turned around without another word, truly too exasperated to form coherent thoughts besides  _coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee —_

There was already a pot on the counter. However, you weren't sure it was safe to drink. Your father often prepared a pot, only to consume some of it in the middle of the night and then forget it existed for a span of several days. You had a French press in your favourite lab, so the kitchen's coffee could be days old without you knowing... until you took a sip and inevitably spit it out because old coffee is fundamentally gross. Your father, the heathen, couldn't tell the difference if his life depended on it.

"J.A.R.V.I.S., how old is this coffee?" you slurred, reaching for a cabinet and browsing through the different cups to find your favourite mug.

"Captain Rogers prepared it this morning, (Y/N)," J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke, and you raised an eyebrow.

Turning to face Steve, you frowned. "I wouldn't peg you for much of a coffee person, Steve," though your words were interrupted halfway through by an obnoxious yawn on your behalf.

He just grinned, good-natured, at your remark. "There are lots of things you don't know about me, (Y/N)." The vagueness of his response made you want to throw a plate, just a little bit.

Not allowing yourself to get too caught up in his comment, you just rolled your eyes and went to pour yourself a cup. Your father’s habit of drinking it black had, over the years, became a habit of yours as well. At first, you thought it was disgusting and bitter in an unnecessary way, but after just a few days of forcing yourself to drink it as such when you were 13, you'd formulated the habit and hadn't looked back since. You couldn't even remember what sugared coffee tasted like.

You resolved to go upstairs and pass on your battery capacity and voltage test results to an intern because you would literally resign before you typed up a corporate lab report for SI by yourself. Before you entered the elevator, though, you spared a glance over your shoulder.

“If you need anything from me or Dad, just ask J.A.R.V.I.S. and he'll pass on the message.”

Steve snorted into his book as you left, and you couldn't help but roll your eyes a smidge.

Captain America brewed coffee in the mornings, and stole muffins from 22-year-old girls.

Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a little shorter than the last chapter, but i hope you all enjoyed it anyways!!


	3. just being nice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reader gets a surprise visit from Steve in her lab.

**chapter three ; just being nice**

When you told Steve which floor you'd be on, and when you said “come talk to me if you have any questions”, you didn't think he'd  _ actually _ take you up on that offer.

Years and years of parties and press conferences had taught you to be nice, even when you didn't particularly want to. The Avengers living in your  _ home _ didn't quite feel right; you didn't know them, and each and every one of them could kill you in a different way. They scared you, and Cap was no exception. His stature and ridiculous height made you uncomfortable, even if his eyes were kind and he practically radiated warmth.

You were just being kind when you told him where in the tower you'd be — after all, he was in a strange new building, and you knew where things were and how things worked. You were being a good host. You were doing your  _ job… _ right?

A few hours after you had retreated to your lab, you were so focused on replacing some frayed wires in Dum-E's arm that you didn't notice when Steve knocked on the glass window of your lab.

Just seconds after he knocked, Jarvis interrupted your work with a surprising announcement.

“Miss (Y/N),” he spoke, “Captain Rogers is requesting access.”

You sighed and set down your wire cutters on the table.

“Let him in, Jarvis,” you said while walking to the other side of the room to find your preferred copper wires.

The door opened slowly behind you, and you could hear Steve's sock-clad feet against the smooth linoleum floors.

“What's up, Rogers?” you asked before he had a chance to greet you. You had yet to turn around and face him while you dug through your assortment of wires and small resistors.

“I've been in the commons all day and you haven't come down for lunch,” he said, and you could hear a smile in his voice. “It's 1:30, and I figured you should probably eat something. So I made you lunch.”

“I'm not hungry,” you replied quietly. With a triumphant grin, you realized you'd found your copper wires and you grabbed the box.

Steve had since put the plate of food on a clean area on your desk. When you saw what he had prepared — a  _ really _ beautiful assortment of French fries, a Caesar salad, and what you swore was fried tilapia — your stomach growled at a ridiculous volume. You didn't even know you  _ had _ any tilapia in the fridge.

“Holy fuck,” you said, nearly dropping your box. “That's the most food I've seen since dad and I went to Eleven Madison Park.” Your mouth was watering just from looking at it; you and your father would generally only eat pizza, pad Thai, and cheap Chinese takeout when left to yourselves.

Steve sent you a questioning look at your comment. “Eleven Madison what?”

You gasped and stared at the super-soldier.

“Have you never been to Eleven Madison Park? Oh my god, I have to take you there sometime. It's, like, my favourite restaurant in this entire city.”

As you rambled on about how absolutely necessary it was for Steve to go to the restaurant, you sat yourself at the desk and took the fork in hand, taking the first bite of what Steve had prepared, right in the middle of your sentence.

You immediately forgot what you were talking about. The taste of something other than cheap Asian cuisine and cranberry muffins overwhelmed your brain.

“Steve, if you make me this kind of food every day, I'll love you forever,” you said seriously, staring at the man for a brief moment before continuing to devour your food.

It took just a couple minutes for you to finish, and you released a loud belch when you'd finished wolfing everything down.

“You're welcome,” Steve said amusedly, walking over and taking your dirty dishes from your desk. He gave you a short “see you at dinner” and then disappeared from your lab, leaving you oddly full and comfortable.

Later, when you received your daily reminder from Jarvis that it was time to eat, you wandered down to the 53rd floor. Steve gave you a genuine smile from across the room, then continued his conversation with Clint — even if you hadn't yet met him, you knew of the infamous Hawkeye.

You grabbed yourself a box of the Chinese takeout that was on the kitchen counter and walked over, sitting next to Steve at the table.

“Capsicle, Bird-brain,” you greeted with a grin. “Enjoying your time at casa del Avengers?”

Clint scoffed and gave Steve a knowing look.

“You really are Stark's kid,” he said with a smile, directing his attention back to you.

“I sure am,” you replied, digging into your dinner. “Jarvis, that reminds me, has dad come down for dinner yet?”

“Mister Stark has been in his lab since noon,” Jarvis spoke. “I have told him that you request his presence.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” you hummed.

You laughed at the uncomfortable looks on Steve and Clint's faces.

“Don't worry, you'll get used to Jarvis pretty fast. He's really helpful, but the whole bodiless thing can probably be a bit scary at first.”

The next few minutes were spent in a slightly awkward silence until your father came downstairs, a bit of oil smudged on his cheeks.

“I was finishing your engine design,” he said, not bothering to greet any of you. “I think this is the best one we've done to date. The alternator looks really powerful though, are you sure the car can handle that?”

“I modified the crankshaft and the timing belt to accommodate. You might wanna check the cooling fan though. I'm not sure that's strong enough.”

“I already checked the cooling fan and make some modifications,” he said, pulling out his Stark Phone and setting it on the table. “Jarvis, pull up the engine design and focus on the cooling fan and alternator.”

The phone broadcasted the hologram, and you smirked at the look you saw on Steve's face out of the corner of your eye.

You spent a couple minutes examining the design and making a couple notes while you reviewed your father's changes.

“You're right,” you hummed. “This looks good.”

Tony had sat across from you while you were looking through the hologram, and he stole your box of food.

With a satisfied grin, you slid the phone across the table to him.

That's when you noticed that Clint and Steve were staring at you both.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at the pair.

“You two are crazy,” Clint replied slowly. “Is this what you do all day? Just… science?”

Tony shrugged and you nodded.

“Oh, dad, that reminds me,” you began, turning to your father. “I finished rewiring Dum-E's arm.”

“Thanks, kiddo,” he said, then stood. “Bird-brain, meet me on the 90th floor when you're done eating. (Y/N) and I worked on some special arrows for you, and they should be better than the standard shit that S.H.I.E.L.D. gives you.”

You spoke before Clint had a chance.

“Whaaaat?? Do we have to do this in my lab?”

Tony rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Yeah, kid, because that's where they are.”

“Whatever,” you grumbled and stood as well, not too pleased about yet another stranger in your personal lab.

You said goodnight to Steve and walked to the elevator with your father and Clint, mostly displeased but slightly proud to show him what you'd created.

You didn't notice Steve's eyes on your retreating form as you left the room.

He chuckled once you had left.

Never before had he thought it would be possible for someone to be both endearing and — well, a Stark. And oh  _ boy _ had you proven him wrong.


	4. requesting access

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve seems to have a habit of visiting you in the lab.

**chapter four ; requesting access**

The next few hours were a blur.

You and your father gave the arrows to Clint, had him test them, and took notes on what you could improve. You then  _ stupidly _ promised that you'd make all the necessary modifications before the next day.

As soon as the dozen arrows were back in your grasp, you shooed Tony and Clint out of the room and immediately got back to work, making small modifications to the arrows in order to perfect them.

Before you knew it, it was 2:00 AM and you were still holed up in your lab, eyes drooping as you made your last few adjustments.

And then Steve had to come in and ruin everything for you.

“(Y/N), Captain Rogers is requesting access,” Jarvis spoke rather quietly.

“Let him in,” you said after a loud yawn, shakily picking up one of the carbon fibre arrows.

The door opened behind you, and you paused to rub your tired eyes before you turned around with a raised eyebrow.

“What's up, Rogers?” you greeted with a sleepy half-grin.

“What the hell are you doing? It's 2:00 in the morning,” he replied, ignoring your question. “You should be asleep.”

“I could say the same to you,” you said pointedly, turning back around and setting the arrow on the scale. It was still a gram heavier than you wanted it to be.

Steve barked out a laugh while walking over to you.

“I'm Captain America. My body is capable of running on under two hours of sleep a week,” he said with a hint of a smirk. “You, however, have to go to bed.”

“You can't make me. You're not my dad or anything,” you retorted, using the holotable to pull up the design of your arrow to see where you could scrap the extra gram off from.

With a roll of his eyes, Steve grabbed you by the waist and promptly threw you over his shoulder.

“I might not be your dad, but I can still carry objects 20 times your weight,” he said amusedly, walking out the door and towards the elevator with you still over his shoulder. “Jarvis, can you please turn off the lights in the lab?”

Jarvis didn't speak and instead just complied with Steve's orders, and for that you were grateful. The situation was embarrassing enough.

The elevator ride was silent, and you were confused as to how Steve knew what floor was yours.

“When are you gonna put me down?” you asked quietly. “Not that I'm complaining, because I have a  _ spectacular _ view of your ass from here, but the blood is going to my head and if I pass out, dad’ll sue you into next century.”

Steve laughed but didn't respond to you, leaving you partially annoyed but mostly amused.

When the elevator opened with a quiet  _ ding _ , Steve stepped out and then finally set you down.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he said with a subtle grin. He then turned and walked to the elevator again. You didn't bother to respond and instead tiredly stumbled to your closet to change into pajamas.

Not even a minute later, as you were busy climbing underneath your soft sheets, Jarvis spoke.

“Goodnight, Miss (Y/N).”

If a robot could sound amused, you were sure that Jarvis did.

You huffed out a sharp breath of air and closed your eyes, snuggling closer into your bedsheets.

You'd deal with Steve tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

 

“I just had to take off  _ one _ gram from the fucking arrow, Steve.”

It was tomorrow, and you were pissed.

As soon as you marched yourself down to the 53rd floor, you began your well-prepared rant, angrily half-screaming at Steve while you snatched your muffin from the pantry and poured your coffee.

“Just one gram! It would've taken me five minutes to finish. Can you not wait five minutes? How impatient can one person be?! I swear to god, if you do that again I'll actually fight you. I will take my dad's armour and  _ take you the fuck out. _ I will kick your sorry ass, Rogers.”

“You seemed to like my ass last night,” he hummed quietly, but he was just loud enough for you to hear. You felt the heat rush to your cheeks at his statement, memories from a few hours earlier rushing back.

“You had my face really close to your butt,” you whined, slamming your mug on the table and wincing at the loud noise it made. “What else was I supposed to say?”

Steve just shrugged, struggling to hide a grin.

“Maybe next time you can go to bed on time?” he suggested with a knowing look.

“Fuck you, Steve,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. You were surprised at the lack of heat in your voice.

He just laughed and continued eating his muffin.

 

* * *

 

“Captain Rogers is requesting access.”

You absentmindedly told Jarvis to let Steve in; your work was much more interesting than paying legitimate attention to the AI’s words. Your latest project — a compact battery than ran on arc reactor technology — was practically  _ begging _ for your attention anyways. You'd finished the design a few days earlier and were finally starting the hands-on part of the process. It was exhilarating and you had your full attention devoted to it.

When Steve walked in, you raised an eyebrow but didn't turn around. You were hunched over your table, carefully soldering a couple of wires together.

“What's up, Rogers?” you asked, chuckling when you heard the clatter of a plate being set down on your desk.

“Lunch,” he answered and sat himself at a free chair you had near the desk.

“Is this going to be an everyday thing?” you huffed, blowing a stray strand of hair away from your eyes. “Because I'm a big girl, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

Steve scoffed and smiled, knowing you could see him out of the corner of your eye.

“I'll believe that when you start coming down for lunch by yourself.”

You send him a half-hearted glare and put down your tools, resignedly walking to your desk. On the plate was a grilled cheese sandwich and a small salad. The day before, he brought you water with your dish. But now, there was a glass of a red liquid next to your plate.

“What's in the cup?” you asked, seating yourself and taking an unnecessarily large bite of your sandwich.

“Cranberry juice.”

You stopped mid-chew and turned to him, swallowing your mouthful of food (and wincing a half-second later at the harsh, scratchy feeling the unchewed toast dragged down your throat).

“How did you know I like cranberry juice?”

Your voice was filled with suspicion.

Steve chuckled and leaned forward, stealing a grape tomato from your plate.

“You seem to really like those cranberry muffins in the pantry,” he responded with a raised eyebrow. “Even to the point where you stole mine yesterday. I figured you had a thing for cranberries. Looks like I was right.”

You stared at him for a second, unbelieving, before looking back to your plate and hungrily diving in for a second time.

“You're a saint for bringing me so much food,” you said through a mouth stuffed with melted cheese and bits of lettuce.

He just wrinkled his nose at your lack of manners.

When you were done, he took your plate without another word and left your lab. He left a comfortable silence in his wake, and you couldn't help but grin.

“What a weird dude,” you mused to yourself before walking to your barely-started project.

You had a lot of work to do.


End file.
